


Red, or: Now You See Me

by Illyria_Lives



Series: Colors [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Grantaire's an articulate drunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyria_Lives/pseuds/Illyria_Lives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire showed up on his doorstep like a ghost.<br/>~<br/>He was Apollo, the sun, looking down over everything and everyone, seeking to illuminate the world, and Grantaire was the ocean, deeper than could ever be seen, blue and green and dangerous to a man built from fire and air.</p><p>Enjolras stared down into the depths, and wondered what it would feel like to take a swim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red, or: Now You See Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. Short chapter, but unlike Yellow and Lavender, takes up a shorter span of time and so does not need anything more.  
> Beta'd by my lovely beta-chan Claire, not on AO3, but on fanfiction as paradorx.

Enjolras had a policy about his shared apartment with Combeferre. It was one of the few on-campus apartments available to undergrads, and possibly the largest one of the bunch, and so it tended to attract the Amis most nights, weekends, and random holidays. The policy was that you could show up whenever you pleased, so long as you did not disturb anyone already inside who may be sleeping or studying. And so each person deemed worthy was outfitted with a key, in case they needed to enter at such a time that someone (Enjolras) was sleeping or studying.

Grantaire broke that policy, into thousands of tiny pieces, as he pounded and pounded on the apartment door loud enough for Enjolras to hurry in socked feet over the floors to get to the door, worried about any possible complaints from his neighbors.

The blond yanked open the door, about to snap out some comment concerning the hour or the fact that he was just about to go to bed, but everything stuck in his throat at the sight of Grantaire leaning against the doorframe.

"Sorry," he said shortly, mouth full of the color red and dribbling a bit, "but I seem to have lost my key."

Enjolras made a strangled noise in his throat. Grantaire looked blearily at him, one eye swollen shut. The other gleamed brightly, a slice of blue-green almost hidden beneath a loose piece of curly black hair. "Can I… come in?" he ventured. Enjolras moved out of the way and R gratefully slunk inside.

"I'll be… try not to bleed on anything," Enjolras finally spoke up as Grantaire stretched out on the couch in the living area.

"As you command, Fearless Leader."

Refusing to make a comment on that gravelly statement, Enjolras stomped back into his bedroom and tugged his phone from the charger on the wall. Then, he had to pause. Combeferre was off in another city, wooing his parents into thinking that he might actually maybe get a significant other this year (like he had convinced them the year before, and the year before that), Joly was on a long weekend camping trip with Bossuet and Musichetta (God alone knows how they convinced him out into the wilderness), and Bahorel would probably take one look at Grantaire and tell him that he'd seen worse.

Marius it was.

"Hello?" he sounded just like the perpetually lovesick puppy he was, even at eleven at night on a Sunday.

"Grantaire's at my apartment," Enjolras said without preamble.

"Well, he has to be  _somewhere_." Marius's smug tone made Enjolras curl and uncurl his fists.

"Combeferre isn't here," Enjolras insisted, kneading one hand at his forehead, a twitch beginning in his eye.

"He's probably somewhere, too."

" _Pontmercy._ " Enjolras's tight voice snapped like a whip through the phone.

"If I knew your last name I would be hissing it back at you," Marius shifted gears, "Grantaire will be fine. If he's drunk, put a movie from the eighties on and give him a bucket. If he's been in a fight, give him some ice and a beer and then put a movie from the eighties on anyway."

"I am not the right person for this."

"You're right; you're not. Now if you'll excuse me, Cosette just got back from the restroom…"

"Pontmercy I swear to God!"

"Good luck, Enjolras, fight the good fight, I believe in you, et cetera." The call ended and Enjolras steamed silently, making notes to kill Marius in his sleep.

Enjolras emerged from the kitchen and heard the sound of the water running in the bathroom. He set about tracking down any DVDs he could remember having, and after a twenty minute search managed to come up with a well-preserved copy of Ferris Bueller's Day Off _._ Good enough. Enjolras dumped some ice into a plastic bag and set it on the coffee table, wrapped in a paper towel.

As he set up the television and DVD player, Grantaire emerged from the bathroom, his face cleaned up and his dark hair still damp. The sleeves of his long shirt were still stained and dotted with blood, but he didn't seem to notice as he dragged one across his forehead. His breath, as he got closer, reeked of alcohol. He picked up the bag of ice and settled it on the crown of his head in a practiced, easy way, pinning it down with one hand. He stilled smelled like a distillery, but seemed to have skipped the nausea part of drunkenness.

"Sorry for showing up," he said in a heavy voice as he flopped down onto the couch with a pained sound. "But my apartment was too far away to walk."

"I'm glad you didn't try to drive," Enjolras said, sitting down in his armchair. He pressed a button on the remote and the movie began to play. Hopefully Grantaire would just watch and fall asleep in a drunken stupor without Enjolras needing to do anything special. Normally Combeferre handled this sort of thing.

Unfortunately it did not go as planned. "Cameron Frye dies at the end," Grantaire said bluntly, nearly twenty minutes into the movie. He shifted and set down the bag of half melted ice onto the coffee table.

It took Enjolras a moment to understand. "What?" he asked.

Grantaire swallowed heavily. "At the end of the movie... he's left there with his shit dad, right? After destroying all that man ever cared about... 'more than life itself' he said. Well, if he loves it more than himself he definitely loves it more than his son. And while everyone else is focusing on Ferris, and his sister, they're so funny, right? Well that's all good, but they just leave him there... just leave Cameron there with the wreck and his dad on his way home, we don't know what goes down, you don't see it, but you know... you know that he's not gonna make it out." His voice was low and steady, and his fingers kneaded at the armrest on the couch.

Enjolras didn't trust himself to do anything more than mutter, "People don't think like that."

Grantaire shrugged, an easy roll of his shoulders, and continued to trace empty shapes onto the arm of the couch with his hand. Enjolras watched it, and he noted how Grantaire's long sleeves were, as they always were, rolled only halfway up his forearm. He couldn't remember ever seeing Grantaire in anything with shorter sleeves. Now, as he moved his hand around, the sleeve climbed higher up his forearm, and Enjolras thought he saw a flash of color beneath it, barely emerging, but then with a sigh Grantaire slid off of the couch and onto the ground, tugging his sleeves back over his hands.

"People don't think like that, but I do. Singularity, that's me." He frowned at the television. "Turn it off."

Enjolras did as he was told. The silence as the movie shut off was almost deafening.

"Most people, they don't catch that, but when I was little... I knew. I knew that Cameron Frye dies at the end of Ferris Bueller's Day Off." His voice was deadly soft and he leaned his head back against the couch.

"That's horrible," Enjolras interjected in a quiet voice when Grantaire paused. It wasn't harsh or judgmental; just an observation.

Blue-green eyes swiveled over to stare at him, fire given human form, a man with revolution housed in his mouth, tucked away amongst his teeth and tongue.

"That's life. People don't really consider that it keeps going after the final scene, and they just reach for that  _one moment_ but they don't think about what comes after." His voice was thickened by bitterness. "What's after for you?"

"What?"

"What happens for you after you save the world, Fearless Leader? What about after your revolution?"

"Why don't you ever talk like this at meetings?" Enjolras snapped, suddenly very tired of the conversation, of how Grantaire's words were weighted, tugging downwards slightly, a slur that was never gone from him. A drunk, a waste of his own mind. It made Enjolras angry, that he was talking to a brick wall that could be so much more to the cause.

Grantaire waves his hand. "Because that's everyone else. This is just you."

With an empty thump, Enjolras's heart dropped down his chest, the tone of the word _you_ catching in his lungs and making it hard for him to breathe. Grantaire saw the astonishment cross his face, and smiled, his split lip nearly tugging open. His eyes were fathomless, but they were crashing, waves against rocks.

Enjolras was so used to overlooking Grantaire, shouting comments from the corner, feet propped up on the table, calling out useless things that only served to derail the actual conversation taking place. But now, alone in the silent apartment at midnight, he was speaking honestly, in an almost poetic way, and Enjolras felt embarrassed to be witnessing it alone, as if he was trespassing on something not meant for him.

He was Apollo, the sun, looking down over everything and everyone, seeking to illuminate the world, and Grantaire was the ocean, deeper than could ever be seen, blue and green and dangerous to a man built from fire and air.

Enjolras stared down into the depths, and wondered what it would feel like to take a swim.

Grantaire tilted his head back, baring up his neck, and he did not open his eyes again.

* * *

Enjolras snapped awake, draped awkwardly over his armchair, and promptly hit the ground with a loud slap. As he bit back a curse, he tilted his head and saw a pair of bare feet aimed towards him, standing at the entrance of the kitchen. He followed the dark-haired legs attached to the feet, to the boxers—quickly passing the boxers—and meeting the curiously twinkling eyes of Grantaire. His borrowed sweatshirt—one of Combeferre's—was rolled up to his forearms, no more, and he had a bowl of cereal in one hand.

"Sorry," he said around a mouthful of fruit loops, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't wake me up." Enjolras twisted in an obscene way in an effort to right himself, and Grantaire's cereal was suddenly feeling the full force of his cyan eyes until the leader was back on his feet. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Grantaire winced. "Pretty banged up. Nothing beyond repair, though." He seemed to grow a bit stiff as he considered what to say next. "Uh… Enjolras, I'm… I didn't…" His face was a bright scarlet.

Enjolras's heart was beating through his chest.  _Cameron Frye dies at the end._ "It wasn't really—"

"I don't remember—"

They looked at each other silently, their words crashing together.

"I was just… I didn't say or do anything really off my rocker last night, right?" Grantaire laughed lightly, obviously ashamed of the fact he couldn't recall his interactions with Enjolras the night before. Blotto was less of a tragedy when the things he forgot didn't involve spending the night alone with Enjolras camping out in his armchair, mere feet away from where he had woken up, curled up on the floor.

"No," Enjolras swallowed heavily. "No, you just slept."

Grantaire released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Okay. Great." He went back to his cereal, and missed the look at Enjolras kept focused on him, eyes like he was peering down into the sea, the depths that no one could decipher.

Then, as Grantaire checked over his shoulder, the force of Enjolras's gaze shivering down his back, he looked away, a bright flash of heat rising to his face. Red draped itself around Enjolras, igniting him for something he didn't understand.

He walked stiffly to his room and shut the door, intent on getting something resembling sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Next up, Grey, or: The Law is Not Amused


End file.
